Asunder
by QueenCelestiaxyv
Summary: The second thing he remembers is waking up cold.   A feeling he never could get away from no matter where he went.   Lime, Shota Can/Amer


_Asunder_

**Author:** Queen Celestia

**Betareader:** lividlillies (thanks!)

**Warnings:** CanAmerLime, mild shota. If you're looking for hardcore shota, try Lividlillies 'The Glorious Seductive Powers of Young Canada'

The second thing he remembers is waking up cold.

A feeling he never could get away from no matter where he went.

A bone chilling cold that seems to splinter your bones and shatter your lungs the moment you take a breath. You wait for your lungs to be punctured from the debris, only it never happens.

But that is nothing compared to the first feeling.

Empty. As if torn asunder. As if torn completely apart, everything that you knew you were stretched out like film, until, finally, without any will power, it snaps, never to be whole again.

He wakes up crying, not knowing what's happening, his hands clinging onto soft clumps of snow. When wide purple eyes open fully they stare at the grey rock sky overhead, hovering there like a dome ceiling, ready to collapse and suffocate at any moment. It comforts him, calms him down, and he sits up, away from his soft cradling snow bed. The cold now feels a warm like blanket, surrounding him like a lover.

He doesn't know why he is crying. All he knows is that something has gone terribly wrong, and that there's a part of him missing.

Knowing that he needs to find what's missing, he shakily attempts to stand up, only to fall onto his face, his unsteady legs not used to the action yet. So instead he crawls, his pale skin seeming to blend into the snow, as if willing him to disappear forever.

He decides that if he looks long enough he will find it, find the clue to his emptiness.

It drives him on, and he crawls until he is bloody and raw, the friction not yet transforming into calluses, and he collapses. Where he doesn't know, but mainly because it does not matter.

The third thing he remembers is a wet nose prodding his side, and something strange against his skin. He would later learn it was called fur, but all he knows now is that it feels nice, and when he wakes up to the white bear, all he can think is that he's finally found something like him.

Together they begin to search for the reason of their emptiness, him ignoring the cramping hunger, the bear, not.

He watches with fascination when the bear stops by a small hole in the ice, and then waits.

Does the bear know something he doesn't?

Apparently he does, as something comes up with a splash, the grey body awkwardly rubbing against the ice in a comical shuffle, before a pool of red spreads out across the ice.

He watches the bear begin to eat before it pauses and looks at him expectantly.

There is no need for words, and he crawls over, and begins to eat The flesh is warm and rubbery in his mouth, the blood streaming down his chin, onto his body. It doesn't matter.

The fourth thing he remembers is being found.

They knew him for what he was – they even have a name for him, one which he regrettably has forgotten.

They treat him and his bear with respect, wrap him up in skins.

He hates the skins. Takes them off whenever he can, so he can feel the wind against his body, or roll around in the snow and feel it touch everywhere.

He is silent for the first human year he is with them, just living with them, listening to them speak, and eating their strange food.

There is a girl who is shy at first, but eventually comes to play with him. She talks a lot. For the first week she is afraid of the bear, and even after becoming comfortable with it, treats it with a wary respect.

She tells him of stories of the Great Mother, the other one like him. Apparently, the Great Mother foresaw this change, knew that her time was coming to a close when the Invaders first arrived many moons ago.

He wants to meet Great Mother, perhaps she would know why he feels fragmented, incomplete. The girl looks sad, and says that Great Mother is busy, fighting for hope of a better future, a different way then the inevitable.

When he finally meets Great Mother, he is entranced by the blood, her wizened and sick face that he could tell was once beautiful.

She holds him in her scarred arms, her voice rolling out in the language that he never had to learn, understanding her love for him and her complete forgiveness in what he had to do, only asking that later, when he was older and in more control of himself that he would show mercy to those who came before.

Mercy.

He doesn't understand. Why should she look at him with pity? Her dark eyes are not fearful, just sad, as if she can see his future and sees only years of bleakness. Her skin is not like his, hers is dark and beautiful, the colour of the people around him. He asks why his is so much like the snow, and she replies that he is born of the Invaders minds, he is the child of the Invaders.

How could that be? He asks. He's never met any of them, doesn't want to if it means that he is going to turn out like her, scarred and sick.

She replies that this happens to every nation. Eventually they must die, she has watched it happen before, she has usurped like he was going to do now.

The tears were hot against his cheeks, and her cool thumb brushing them away reminded him of the comforting embrace of snow, and that night they slept together, a strange hug of mother and son.

She would be gone when he woke up. Years later, when he would see her next, she would be sprawled at his feet in a pool of blood, dead. The green-eyed Invader would look on with pride, the red uniform a reflection of her blood.

The first Invader he met was beautiful. Horrible and beautiful. The Invader knew at once who he was and grabbed at him greedily, as if he were a toy to be had. The language was strange, rolling off the tongue like decadent sweets, pooling around the ears in a foreign embrace.

The Invader didn't seem to like him very much, only wanted him out of greed, always preoccupied by the other Invaders.

Despite this, he was fond of the corn-silk haired Invader. After coming upon the Invader, sick, and nursing him back to health, the Invader seemed to become a little fonder of him.

He learnt the language of the Invader, but rarely spoke it, preferring to listen and meekly comply. He was scared to speak, and when he did it was in his peoples language, which always seemed to send the man flying into a rage. He was unsure of the Invader's language but he knew that if he spoke, it could only be in that language or else the whip would come out, being purged of the dirty heathen tongue for the Glory. He didn't know what the Glory was, all he knew was that it hurt.

He was too young and weak to resist, and he learnt that if he complied he would be treated well and the Glory would not be brought out.

He sat there listening to the Invader complain bitterly of the cold and snow, calling it a Hell. He did not at first understand what Hell was, and was confused when that Book was read to him, where Hell was explained as some place so hot that snow never came – how could where he lived be Hell?

The Invader's eyes widened in horror, and then taught him of the Book, and informed him that all he knew before was wrong, all lies.

Inside his heart there was rebellion, but after a thorough beating and threatening the people, he finally complied, listening wide eyed to the stories. Stories he couldn't fully understand, of men dying and being reborn, of wars and plagues.

Scared. The stories scared him, and after being forced into swearing allegiance into this man's beliefs, he was abandoned. Or that was how it felt.

The man with the corn-silk hair disappeared, to be faced by the green eyed Invader, swaggering in, speaking another incomprehensible language. All he knew was that something had happened to the silk haired man, and that he was now the property of this rough man, his hair short and unkempt like a porcupine.

Curiously, in perfect French, he asked if the man slept in trees like the porcupine, and was looked at with contempt. The other man understood the language perfectly well, and spoke it sharply, as if with contempt, turning those decadent words into sharp painful pin pricks.

When he spoke the French, it irritated the man. Scared of the Glory he reverted back to his language, and got punished, far worse than the Glory.

However, when he didn't reply he got into trouble as well, and daily he was tortured by the new food.

He didn't think he had become a snob when it came to food, but when served up the strange creations, he yearned for the raw taste of blubber against his tongue, the freshly smoked salmon, or the meat of the buffalo mashed together with berries.

Sometimes he would sneak out and eat his own food, until one day he was caught, blood around his mouth, feasting on the heart of a seal, his bear tearing into the flesh as well. A shared meal, one that caused him to not be fed for a week.

He wasn't sure what had made the man so angry, was he eating too messy? It was hard to be neat like the man liked, when the blood was still pumping out of the animal, or was it because he hadn't used a weapon?

Was it wrong to share in the meal of the bear?

When the Invader spoke to him, it was in French. The words were soft, and a strange change seemed to have come over him. He was confused. After being isolated for a week, and painfully separated from his bear, the man was telling him that there was another like him.

Another?

He had heard the corn-silk man mention something like that, but he had never believed it to be true, thought it was a story like the others.

However, he had to finish learning the new language, something he had been stubbornly refusing to do.

The Invader, who never seemed to have proper time for him, suddenly did.

His mannerisms were different from the first Invader, but in their own way more sincere.

The man, seeing the stubbornness, instead of getting angry, seemed amused, and began by telling stories. Not of the Book, or of the Glory, or even of Hell, but of his own past.

The words flowed beautifully in French, catching him up, until suddenly he would revert into English.

In vain, to hear the rest of the story, he learnt English, the man's voice turning the harsh language into something soft and intimate.

At night, on the cabin wall, the man's hands would transform into magic, the shadows on the wall illustrating his own take over, the invasion of the men of the South.

It seemed inconceivable that this man had once been small like him, had once been invaded himself, but as the stories progressed, and his frustration with English abated, as the words gelled and made sense, he could feel himself relax with the Invader, fall gently in love with the other.

The man, at first brisk and cruel, was apparently softer once his shell was cracked.

The man always seemed to be alone, until he one day stumbled upon the green eyed Invader talking to his friends, strange flying things and other fantastical creatures. Amazed, he hid and watched the conversation, his heart pounding in excitement. Perhaps, he would show the man his other friends, the ones who lived in the lake, the others who flew through the sky, and the spirits that walked with him in the deep woods.

Before he could make up his mind on how to bring up the subject, the man decided that they were going to meet the Other.

Stomach roiling in excitement, he took the man's hand, and they walked over.

It was so close! A presence he had always vaguely been aware of, in lands he was scared to visit, scared to go to for he feared the heat of the Hell the other had described. The corn-silk man had described the lands further south, spoke of the green eyed devil who so keenly hurt those of the superior race (which he apparently was a part of), and now, he realized, he was being invited by the green eyed devil down into the lands of Hell.

Lands he had been told were so hot that the ground did not grow food of any kind.

The grass was springy under his feet, not at all like the other had described, and he thought if Hell was like this, he wouldn't mind going there. The sky was the same, and as they came to the location, he was taken aback by the blue eyed boy who looked so much like him, but also different.

The Other exuded confidence, instantly capturing the green eyed Invader's attention, stealing the Invader away so easily, while the other watched on.

Upon their introduction, the Other stared and stared until realizing that he wasn't going to get any amazing form of entertainment. The Other became bored, running off with the Invader chasing after.

It left him forgotten, trailing behind.

The Other fascinated him. He watched their interactions, wondering how someone could be so loud, so full of sunshine. It made him realize that in comparison he was a mere shadow. Probably a mistake.

When it came to food, the other ate the Invader's cooking with gusto, not caring that the items were hard to chew, strange looking or that sometimes it wasn't cooked entirely through (although the last option was his favourite, had the most palatable flavours).

The Other promptly ignored him, treated him as if he had no significance, played by himself, while he sat on the sidelines watching while the Invader was busy with invader business.

Silently, he admired the other, too shy to ask to join in the games, until one day, quite by accident, they touched.

He had been too slow to move out of his hiding place as the Other came charging through the bush on his imaginary horse neighing loudly.

The Other quite literally ran smack into him, causing them both to tumble and catch on the bush—the prickles digging into their skin—until breathlessly after struggling, they emerged in a tiny combined bundle.

The stings didn't bother them, nor the scratches. Instead, they were staring at each other in surprise, as if for the first time, their pudgy hands wrapped around each others arms, the feeling of electricity sparking between them as recognition of each other took place.

It wasn't long until they were touching each other everywhere, exploring the same and the difference in their body, unashamed of their nudity.

He was fairly sure that it was the Other who suggested it, questioned if even they tasted the same.

A tongue licked his cheek, the Other's face crinkling in thought, before the tongue was swiped across surprised lips.

Not to be out done, he licked back, connecting their mouths in a strange exploratory kiss.

Their taste was different, but similar, as if the Invading influences had permanently left the vaguest of marks in their flavour.

Their bare bodies rubbed hotly against each other's, their mouths moving from each other's onto the other areas of skin, the stimulation picking up their heart beats, their pricks hardening as the blood rushed through their body.

The Other's tongue got there first, licking the erect prick, sending pleasurable thrills through his body, the Other interested in the throbbing heat, lapping at the liquid now forming at the tip.

A hand on the Other's head, making the Other pause, wide eyes that reminded him of prairie skies looked up questioningly, asking if it hurt.

No, that wasn't it, he wanted to taste the other as well.

A curious nod, a decision as they shifted around, their mouths now hovering over each other's prick, the Other going back in, now more assured, while he stared at the small red piece of turgid flesh, the strange liquid forming on top.

A pink tongue swiped, the salty taste good, and not at all how he thought it would be. His action earned a moan from the Other, and realizing that it probably felt just as good for the Other, as it did for him, he let his tongue trail and taste, the heated flesh strange yet delightful.

Gorging on each others cocks, they began to suck, their reciprocal moans filling the air, until quite unexpectedly the other burst into his mouth, choking him, making him pull his mouth away, the pearlescent liquid dribbling out from between his lips. The Other's moaning mouth distracted him, the vibrations causing him to tense, his body thrumming with the unknown excitement and then release.

It felt as if part of the puzzle had been solved, and throughout the next week the two boys gorged on each others flesh, so intoxicated with each other that they didn't notice the world around them.

It was when they were laying the way of their geography, their bodies sticky with shared substance, his limp prick tightly clasped in the Other's thighs, when everything felt completely at peace, that the Invader came upon them.

Green eyes, shocked, took in the situation, his rough nature churning into needle like points as he ripped them apart, his tongue slicing through their euphoria, shattering the bridge between the twins.

So angry was the Invader, that they departed that night, separating him from the Other, stating that no such journey could be far enough for their Shame was so great.

He could tell that the Invader blamed him, and not the Other, seemed to assume that corn-silk had taught him these manners, and when he had quietly attempted to correct, the Invader turned away rigid.

When they were in his lands once more, the Invader took him to a quiet area, and took out the Glory, hands shaking in anger, as he begun to punish the boy, talking about Hell, and Glory.

All he knew was that he had obviously done wrong, and that he deserved the Glory for visiting Hell. Except, the Invader had taken him to Hell, so the painful punishment puzzled him.

After, when the Glory was over, he looked to the Invader, shocked to see green eyes full of the ocean. The pain seemed to disappear.

Small hands reached out and grasped the Invaders clothes, as if comforting, saying that it was alright, that he deserved the Glory for being such a bad child, and that He knew better than him.

The Invaders friends seemed to appear out of the air, surrounding the two, as if to give comfort, as the Invader knelt, and wrapped wiry arms around the child, the ocean getting into the blond hair, the choked apology for being too ardent in his punishment.

A small plea for him not to leave, and he could feel the Invader's loneliness and fear.

Fear that he would some day leave for the Other, let him rot alone on his Island, a fear masked with infinite pride, that no one should see these thoughts.

Silently he promised never to let the Invader feel lonely. Forgiving for the Glory, the feeling of his emptiness compassionate for the others.

When left alone, he and the Other silently met up, their bodies irresistibly drawn together. Despite how much they tried to keep it secret, it felt as if the Invader knew, the worry in the emeralds that were used as eyes, the disapproving mouth, as he looked from one boy to the other. Not caught red handed, but close enough for the Invader.

The Invader separated them farther, taking one with him on his Journeys. Continents and the ocean separating the two like a child's pop out book, a teasing mockery of what had already happened.

He always knew when he was close to the Other, could feel it in the air, how the wind currents blew towards him, and he could feel himself running, wanting to go home to rejoin. They would make the Invader understand that it was alright, that the Glory didn't affect them in this manner.

Meet ups of quiet touching, the space between seeing each other getting larger and more empty, until each time they finally met, there was shock at how much their bodies had changed.

None of it mattered, later, when they were aligned as the sun saw, age and difference disappearing into the invisible lines of division constructed by the foreign invaders. (Men who always acted as if they were right, prideful as everything they had proposed to be true fell down around them clearly painting out the lies.)

It was a stark day when the Other showed up on his door, his mouth spouting out ideas that he did not fully understand, hand outstretched in invitation for them to join together forever, no more secret meet ups, or lessons from the Glory.

How was it possible? How could they do it?

The Other attempted to explain more, the cocksure confidence strange and bewildering, as he casually talked about harming the Invader in the most brutal way imaginable.

When asked if there could be any other way, the Other refused to open his mind, the Other was certain that his plan could not fail, that everything would go smoothly.

He had employed corn-silk to aid him, playing the two enemies off each other, making it seem that their independence was in reality just a stage for another European battle.

The Other could not understand how the Invader having the ocean in his eyes had anything to do with their rejoining as one, his anger clear in the brilliant blue eyes so much like the prairie sky, the words spoken sharp and shattering.

Why should it matter? They needed to be free of that Invader, so they could make their own decisions, destroy the person who had torn them apart.

The arguments were clear, made him doubt his choice, for the ocean had been so long ago, made him worry that perhaps he had been wrong to vow never to hurt the Invader again. His thoughts spun in a web, around him and his bear, the faithful companion who seemed to hold fragments of the memory he did not want to remember.

Temptation to join the Other, to lay back down in the way of their geography, how it was supposed to be before the Invaders.

His mind was still a mess when he saw the green eyed Invader, the dark smudges of coal under the brilliant eyes showing the worry, eyes dry as if the ocean had long ago dried up in all the fighting. It was startling to realize just how small the Invader really was, a man whom he always thought of as larger than the sky, so prideful that it would be nigh impossible to defeat him.

The worry and rumours were taking their toll, showing how clearly the man was clutching at straws, attempting to make everything continue to work.

The Invader looked at him, as if in resignation, silently and angrily accepting that he would go with the Other, join up with the corn-silk haired Invader to go against him.

The turn of his mouth clearly showed what he expected to happen, how the world had all turned their backs upon him, preferring that he slip away, back into obscurity, alone on his Island.

There was still fight, he knew the Invader would give it his all, attempt to reclaim the world that was so skilfully slipping away. Slip away like silk sheets sliding over sinful thighs, revealing the festering sins underneath.

Words, echoed back to him, a strange irony as he reached out to the man who had no mercy.

He knew the Other was wrong in how to gain their freedom. The violent tearing grim satisfaction in watching the Invader crumble into the nothing that he once was.

The armour, that was only holy by virtue of all the broken through chinks throughout it, revealing pallid sickly flesh, burned and scarred, leathery and resilient, the Invader kneeling on the ground as if beseeching the deity no one knew existed.

Did it always have to be this way? The younger usurping the old, in a violent heartless fashion, couldn't there be another way? That was his thought as his cold hand touched the worn out face.

Prideful eyes seemed to shout the challenge, tell him that it was all over, that the day of the Invader was finished, that his shadow was no longer welcome to touch the beautiful strange lands, found only by mistake.

As he drew the smaller man into his strong youthful arms, going against everything the Other had told him to do, he realized he didn't fear the Glory anymore. He couldn't do it, couldn't destroy the Invader in such a cruel and heartless manner.

Why should he do it the European way, when he wasn't even European?

The Invader was tense in his arms, as if expecting the rejection still, the wiry body pushing away, mistrustful emeralds gazed into the violet, awaiting the news of betrayal.

The Invader's lips tasted different, was the thought, as he shared in the Shame, the other in his arms quivering in disbelief and anger.

Different than the Other's, but not a bad different, it tasted like perfume and salt.

The Invader had not expected this more gentle of invasions, like the soft tap of butterfly wings, the mouth opening automatically, as if forever waiting for someone to touch him in a way he professed to so thoroughly reject.

Drawing apart the borders that never touched, he watched in some panic as the ocean filled up the emeralds, spilling down in torrential rivers, lips pressing desperately up against the cheeks, concern cottoning between them like a favourite blanket.

The Invader's chuckles filled the air, his mouth forming those strange words, replying that of course he knew all along that he would never side with the Other. The lies easily rolling off, the words not really meaning anything as the relief was stark in all of the Invaders actions.

When he told the Other his decision, he realized that he had been correct.

The Other had grown cold, the compassion a façade for ambition, his mouth lifted into a snarl, threatening a forceful union.

He knew the Other was serious, he knew then that even if he had sided with the Other, that their first week of ecstasy could never be regained, the Other had simply changed too much.

_~fin_


End file.
